


by your side, forever and always

by JaskierOfRivia



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Jaskier comforts Geralt, M/M, Nightmares, Not Really Character Death, because Geralt is just dreaming, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskierOfRivia/pseuds/JaskierOfRivia
Summary: Geralt dreams of Jaskier's death. Luckily, Jaskier is there to comfort him when he wakes, screaming Jaskier's name.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 269





	by your side, forever and always

**Author's Note:**

> This is quite possibly the most cathartic thing I have ever written. Due to some family things I've been through in the past week, the loss I myself have been through, I really needed to get this down. I am in love with these two soff boys <3

The mercenary attack started out just like many other sudden or unexpected attacks. Jaskier had been prattling on about this fish stew he’d had the last time he’d been down by the coast, Geralt listening with one ear while also scanning the environment for any sort of threat. “Geralt, seriously, you  _ have _ to try this stew, it’s amazing, the fish just  _ melts _ in your mouth, and it smells  _ so good _ , and-”

“Jaskier,  _ quiet _ ,” Geralt hissed, holding out a hand, and the bard fell silent instantly. This wasn’t Geralt telling him to be quiet because he just wanted Jaskier to stop talking (he hadn’t meant that seriously for a long time, anyway). No, this was Geralt telling Jaskier to hush because he’d  _ heard _ something, and he needed to concentrate.

“Mercenaries,” Geralt whispered, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. “A lot of them. They’re coming fast. Do you still have the dagger I gave you?”

Jaskier nodded frantically, scrambling off of Roach and pulling out the dagger. He gripped it in his right hand, so tightly his fingers turned white. “Good,” Geralt said. “They’ll be here soon. They’re definitely not going to be able to be talked down, these ones. I’m going to have to fight them all.”

Geralt was right. The men were soon upon them, charging forward with swords drawn and battle cries. Geralt immediately moved into action, deftly stepping out of the way of one sword before turning in an arc, slicing one man open from shoulder to hip. The man fell, and Geralt was instantly on to the next mercenary. This one lost an arm to Geralt’s blade, before the Witcher silenced him by cutting through his neck.

The rest of the battle moved by in a haze of slashing swords and yelling. The mercenaries, with all their training and skills, were no match for Geralt’s Witcher skills. The last man looked like he wanted to turn tail and run, but he still ran towards Geralt, yelling as loud as he could. All Geralt had to do was step to the right, before driving the sword right through the mercenary’s heart.

When Geralt finally felled the man, he realised it was quiet.

Too quiet.

All the mercenaries were down, with wounds on all different locations on their body, one of them decapitated, two of them missing arms. They weren’t who Geralt was looking for. He didn’t care about any of them.

“Jaskier?” He called out, looking around frantically, head turning in every direction, sword still drawn in case any more mercenaries were hiding nearby. “Jaskier? Where are you? Jaskier?”

Geralt saw the dagger first. A simple thing, but with the hilt carved with flowers (buttercups and dandelions, Jaskier’s favourite) covered in mercenary blood, lying abandoned in the dirt. Jaskier never abandoned his dagger. It was far too important to him. The first gift Geralt had given him. It was his most treasured possession. Even more so than his lute.

“Jaskier? Jaskier!”

When Geralt finally noticed him, it was like all the breath had been knocked from his lungs. Jaskier too was lying in the dirt, a few feet from the dagger. His arm, now motionless on the ground, was reaching towards where Geralt stood motionless, disbelieving. It was as if he’d been reaching for the Witcher to come help him.

Geralt didn’t realise he was moving until he dropped to his knees before Jaskier, his sword clattering down on top of Jaskier’s dagger. A jagged blade had plunged into Jaskier’s stomach, blood flowing from the wound and staining Jaskier’s clothes.

Geralt’s hands pressed at the wound, pushing down as hard as he could, trying desperately to stop the bleeding.

“Ge- Geralt…” Jaskier spluttered, trying to choke out the Witcher’s name, say something else, but Geralt gently placed a finger over the bard’s lips.

“Ssh, ssh, Jaskier, save your strength,” Geralt insisted. “We can treat this. We can  _ fix _ this.”

“No, Geralt…”

“Jaskier,  _ shush _ ,” Geralt growled, still pressing at the wound, even as Jaskier’s blood flowed over his fingers.

“Geralt… I’m not…” Jaskier whispered. It was then Geralt that Jaskier was crying. “It’s too late…”

“No, Jaskier, please,” Geralt begged. “Don’t say that. It’s not too late. You’re  _ not _ leaving me.”

“Just… hold my hand, Geralt,” Jaskier asked him. Geralt complied instantly, gripping Jaskier’s pale hand as tightly as he could, as if by holding on as hard as possible he could keep Jaskier’s life safe within.

“K- kiss me, Geralt…” Again, Geralt immediately did as Jaskier asked, gently pressing their lips together. He could taste blood.

Jaskier’s blood.

When Geralt pulled away again, Jaskier’s eyes looked dull. “I- I love you Geralt,” he managed to stammer.

“I love you too, Jaskier,” Geralt promised. “I always have.”

“Good.” Jaskier smiled weakly, before closing his eyes. His hand went limp in Geralt’s.

“Jaskier?  _ Jaskier! _ ”

Geralt suddenly jerked awake, panting heavily, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. Jaskier was lying beside him, alive and well, staring at Geralt with fear and concern written all over his face. “Are you okay?” Jaskier asked. “You were saying my name in your sleep. Screaming it, by the end. You sounded scared, too, so I know it wasn’t a sex dream.”

Geralt was so confused and relieved all at once, he didn’t even rebuke Jaskier for his attempt at a joke. “You’re okay,” he breathed, still staring at Jaskier.

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier said, confused.

Geralt shook his head, clambering out of bed. He made the sign of Igni, using the Witcher’s spell to light all the candles in the room. There. All the better to see Jaskier with. His bard. His  _ living  _ bard.

Jaskier was behind Geralt in an instant, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and resting his head on the Witcher’s shoulder. Both men were completely naked, but Geralt was not cold at all. Jaskier, on the other hand, was using Geralt’s extra body heat to keep himself warm.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, but Geralt didn’t reply. “Dear heart,” he added, the term of endearment he tended to use in the more serious situations, when he needed his love to listen to him. “Tell me what’s the matter. You can’t wake up screaming my name, say that I’m okay like it surprises you, and not tell me why.”

Geralt sighed, lacing his fingers together with Jaskier’s, where they rested on Geralt’s stomach. “I had a nightmare,” he said finally. “About your death.”

“It was just a nightmare, Geralt,” Jaskier promised him, kissing his neck softly, tenderly. “I’m still here. I’m alive.”

“It felt so  _ real _ ,” Geralt insisted, squeezing Jaskier’s hands oh so tightly, as if to reassure himself again that his bard was still there. That he was still  _ alive _ . “I felt the life  _ leave _ you, Jaskier, felt your blood flow over my hands, I was  _ losing  _ you, and there was nothing I could do.” Geralt’s voice caught in his throat then, and Jaskier knew that if the Witcher had been capable of it, there would be tears in his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere, Geralt,” Jaskier vowed. “I’m still right here by your side. Where I belong. Where I’ll always be.”

Geralt turned around, then, so he was facing Jaskier. His golden eyes were ablaze. Fierce. Determined. Desperate.  _ Scared _ . “You know my dreams can be prophetic sometimes, Jask.” He rested his forehead against Jaskier’s, feeding off Jaskier’s warmth and love and  _ life _ . “It felt like that. Like this was a dream that will one day come true.”

“We won’t let it,” said Jaskier, wanting nothing more than to comfort his love. “ _ I _ won’t let it. Even if this is one of your prophetic dreams, we can stop it from happening. We have before.”

“But how will we  _ know _ though, Jaskier? How will we know which fight is the one that could kill you if we weren’t careful enough, prepared enough. I can’t lose you, Jaskier. I can’t. I just- I  _ can’t _ .”

It wasn’t until Jaskier felt his own forehead vibrating that he realised that Geralt was shaking; with fear or desperation or cold or something else entirely, Jaskier couldn’t tell. Whichever it was, though, Jaskier crashed his lips together with Geralt’s, kissing him as hard and as warmly and as passionately as he could. He tried to convey everything he felt, everything he wanted to say through the kiss. He knew Geralt’s love language was actions, not words, and he would hear this more than anything Jaskier could ever say.

_ I love you. I’m here. I will never leave you. You are mine, and I am yours, forever and always, until the end of time. You cannot let this dream, be it of the future or not, eat you up from the inside. We’ve done this before, and we can do this again, and again, and again. You and I, together, side by side until the end of time. _

“Jaskier…” Geralt whispered against the bard's lips, voice rough and hoarse and thick with tears that could never come. Jaskier knew Geralt understood him. “My Jaskier. Dear one.”

“Dear heart. My love,” Jaskier whispered back. “Do you want to go back to bed now?”

Geralt nodded, so Jaskier took his hand and led him back to the bed they shared. Geralt got in first, before Jaskier clambered in beside him, curling up to Geralt as close as possible, resting his head on the Witcher’s broad chest. Geralt began threading his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, something both of them loved him doing. They both found it comfortable. Soothing.

“If we get attacked by mercenaries on the road, you are not allowed to leave my side,” Geralt said. “Stick as close to me as possible. Do  _ not _ go out of my sight. I need to be able to see you, touch you,  _ protect you _ . Do you understand?”

Realising that Geralt was talking about what he saw in his dream, what he’d seen about Jaskier’s potential death, Jaskier nodded quickly. “Of course. Of course,” he promised, and Geralt knew he meant it with all his heart.

Jaskier closed his eyes, allowing himself to slowly drift, listening to the measured sounds of Geralt’s breathing, finally calm. Right before Geralt made the Witcher’s sign to put out all the candles, Geralt spoke again.

“Jaskier? Before I get my next contract, and before you book your next show, can we go to the coast?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, it means a lot to me.
> 
> As always, follow me on Twitter [@JaskierOfRivia](https://twitter.com/JaskierOfRivia) so we can yell about the Witcher together <3


End file.
